


Past Unreal Conditional

by Caracalliope



Category: The Strange Case of Starship Iris (Podcast)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Implied/Referenced Torture, Other, Prisoner of War, Xenolinguistics, translator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: The war doesn't end, and Krejjh gets captured a few days after deserting. A translator is called in.





	Past Unreal Conditional

Krejjh is going to die here, at the hands of the enemy, and it's going to be long and painful and so, so stupid. Stoicism is the only way to be valiant in the face of it all, but the problem is - there's no point. The humans are going to lose. Krejjh has no intel to give them, only a convenient target for their rage. But even that rage is small and boring, and fearful. And useless.

They beat Krejjh once already, upon arrival. They'll do that many more times over the coming days.

When the door opens, Krejjh flinches. Shameful, weak, antsy. Never had any self-discipline, not when it matters. When the interrogations come to an end, the ancestral spectral fleet will rise up from the void, only to shout 'I told you so' one last time before Krejjh dives into the freedom death has to offer.

The newcomer kneels down in front of Krejjh, holding a strange piece of cloth. Antiseptic or a toxin? Or a blindfold?

"I am so, so sorry," says the human. "I keep telling them you're a deserter, and they won't listen. The higher-ups think you know something. Even if you hadn't deserted, how the fuck would you know anything we don't? Nobody tells front line cannon ammo more than it needs to know."

In spite of the disrespect against the Dwarnian army, this human's grammar is correct. Too polite, really, for the situation. The human addressed Krejjh as a superior, and as a warrior, while the human's pronouns were those of a scholar and apprentice.

"Um, and your name is?" Krejjh asks, deliberately condescending in both tone and grammar. It's important to find out if the human has a temper.

The human has a blush reaction, light brown cheeks getting darker. And dimples, also. "I humbly apologize for the rudeness. My name is Translator Jeeter. Do we really always start with introductions, or -? Sorry, I apologize, we don't really, it's hard to get into conversational Dwarnian out here, so my grasp of social norms is pretty shaky."

"I'm Deserter Krejjh," Krejjh says, keeping the condescension up for a little longer. "I have no need for a translator at this time."

"Well, no, but I already bribed the dudes at the door to let me in."

"Why would you do that?" The 'you' used for an equal, this time.

"Because I thought I could help, maybe. I mean, help get those bruises looked at, for one thing? And everything, uh, cleaned? And I can get you some food, that's the best I can do. But if I'm not welcome, I can just leave."

Translator Jeeter's grammar is becoming humbler still. If the human is being manipulative right now - well, Krejjh always was flighty and easily led.

"Will you be here, for my next interrogation?"

The human's nod is immediate, and filled with a sorrow that makes Krejjh ache for something impossible to name.

"Fine," Krejjh says. "You can wash my face."

Translator Jeeter's hands are warm and gentle, and any stoicism Krejjh could have mustered melts under them. Silently, the human wipes the tears away, along with the blood.


End file.
